he wind, and Mrs. Fane sailed off on the
starboard tack.

"But as long as you're not keeping anything from me," she went on, "I
don't mind. So go out, dear child, and enjoy yourself by all means. But
don't be very late."

"I never am," said Michael quickly, and a little resentfully as he
thought of his very decorous homecomings.

"I know you're not. You're really a very dear fellow," his mother
murmured, now safe in port.

So at nine o'clock as usual Michael passed through the turnstiles and
began his feverish progress across the Exhibition grounds, trying as he
had never tried before to screw himself up to the pitch of the
experience he craved.

He was standing by one of the entrances to the Court of Marvels,
struggling with his self-consciousness and egging himself on to be bold
on this his last night, when he heard himself accosted as Mr. Michael
Fane. He looked round and saw a man whom he instantly recognized, but
for the moment could not name.

"It is Mr. Michael Fane?" the stranger asked. "You don't remember me? I
met you at Clere Abbey."

"Brother Aloysius!" Michael exclaimed, and as he uttered the
high-sounding religious appellation he almost laughed at the incongruity
of it in connection with this slightly overdressed and dissolute-looking
person he so entitled.

"Well, not exactly, old chap. At least not in this get-up. Meats is my
name."

"Oh, yes," said Michael vaguely. There seemed no other comment on such a
name, and Mr. Meats himself appeared sensitive to the implication of
uncertainty, for he made haste to put Michael at ease by commenting on
its oddity.

"I suppose you're thinking it's a damned funny exchange for Brother
Aloysius. But a fellow can't help his name, and that's a fact."

"You've left the Abbey then?" enquired Michael.

"Oh Lord, yes. Soon after you went. It was no place for me. Manners,
O.S.B., gave me the push pretty quick. And I don't blame him. Well, what
are you doing? Have a drink? Or have you got to meet your best girl? My,
you've grown since I saw you last. Quite the Johnny nowadays. But I
spotted you all right. Something about your eyes that would be very hard
to forget."

Michael thought that if it came to unforgettable eyes, the eyes of Mr.
Meats would stand as much chance of perpetual remembrance as any, since
their unholy light would surely set any heart beating with the
breathless imagination of sheer wickedness.

"Yes, I have got funny eyes, haven't I?" sa